Of Soldiers, Old and New
by julien-schu
Summary: In which Barnaby during his mercenary days mulls over interesting possibilities for his kind.


**Of Soldiers, Old and New**

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**Author's note:** This was the result from the following prompts on my Tumblr: _Barnaby during his mercenaries days, having a drink with some of the soldiers__._

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"There you go, lad," said one of the grizzled veterans in the company as he shoved a tankard into Barnaby's hands, "that one's on us. You've far more than deserved it, after all you did today."

The pawn stared at the tankard of ale for a moment before he gulped down a mouthful, copying the rest of the patrons in the crowded alehouse. The small building was crammed with soldiers and mercenaries from the company he currently served. They were all celebrating their latest triumph against some minor lordling who had the gall to pit himself against another almost equally minor lordling, whom unfortunately for the former had enough resources to hire himself some fighting men to settle their dispute in a more loud - and entertaining, according to some of the soldiers - arrow-loosing, spell-casting, shield-bashing and blade-clashing manner. It had occurred to him earlier in the campaign to ask if the two nobles had tried to resolve their dispute more amicably, but one of the mercenaries had simply hushed him and stomped on his foot for good measure, before muttering something about 'pawns ruining good employment'.

Barnaby shook his head and wiped some traces of ale from his mouth with his hand, perfectly imitating the soldier who sat in front of him. He would never understand the motives of humans and had decided long ago it was far easier for his kind to try and blend in.

One of the mercenaries - the very same one that stomped on his foot, he noted - sat next to him and then draped an arm around the pawn's shoulder. "That all yer havin'?" the mercenary said, pointing at his tankard.

Barnaby nodded. "Yes."

"Not into drinkin' much, are we?"

He blinked. "No, not really."

"Oh? What then? Wenches? No? Good food?"

He shook his head.

The somewhat tipsy mercenary frowned. "Eh? Then what do you spend your gold on?"

"Lodging mostly, and some supplies," he answered. "I then simply keep the remainder of my pay. Sometimes I purchase better equipment for myself."

One of their current employer's regulars must have overheard the conversation, for the soldier swooped down and sat next to the pawn. "Got plenty of gold on you, eh?" The man grinned and retrieved a pair of dice from his pockets, "Fancy a quick game or two?"

"You can shove off before I ram your bloody weighted dice down your throat, that's what you're going to do," the mercenary snarled menacingly - although Barnaby wished he did not do so at such a close distance, for the man's breath was far from appealing - before the prospective gambler decided it was much easier to find someone else to cheat.

"Thank you," Barnaby said.

"Least I could do to return the favour."

"Favour?"

The mercenary gave out a hearty laugh. "Maker's breath, you lot are strange! Don't you remember attacking that outpost all by your lonesome self when the rest of us can barely get near it with all the spells that mage at the tower was flinging about? What a sight that was, flitting around them fireballs before you got 'er with an arrow! While we're busy hiding behind rocks and some of us are already pissin' in our breeches!"

Barnaby was about to remind the mercenary that he hardly had any emotions to begin with, much less fear - and well, pawns could not exactly die - and thus had seen no reason why he should have abandoned the assault.

Then he recalled the foot-stomping and kept his mouth shut.

By now the mercenary's loud speech had garnered most of his comrades' attention. "That's right," the man went on saying, "if you hadn't brought down that blasted mage, none of us would've had a chance taking that bloody outpost."

"Not like them lot o' regulars was any good," added another.

"Damned right! Just sittin' at the sides, waiting for us sell-swords to do all the bloody work and then they get all the glory!"

"That useless lot can keep their glory, we're getting all the gold!"

A loud cheer erupted from the mercenaries. The regulars grumbled and growled in their seats, but due to their smaller numbers, wisely kept their opinions to themselves.

The proprietor of the alehouse, who was about to duck under the counter and then brace himself for a loud brawl that would ruin his business for the night, sighed loudly in relief.

The pawn however, remained seated in slight confusion.

"Drinks are on us!"

"We're going to get you properly drunk, mind!" another mercenary announced as he shoved a fresh tankard of ale into Barnaby's confused hands before the mercenaries laughed in unison.

"But I don't get drunk."

The laughter promptly died.

"Say what?" said one of the mercenaries, blinking rapidly.

"I don't get drunk," Barnaby repeated. He raised the full tankard to his lips and downed the entire contents in a single breath, before slamming it on the table, a gesture that impressed almost half of the alehouse patrons. "I have yet to experience being inebriated, even after drinking copious amounts."

"In-eb-wot?"

"He means getting drunk, methinks."

"Well why didn't he just say so? All them fancy words-"

"Quiet!" roared the mercenary next to Barnaby.

The pawn winced.

"So you don't get sloshed? Not ever?" he asked, a strange look on his face. Barnaby had seen similar expressions on women who were haggling over wares in the market, and was not quite sure to make of it.

"No. I have actually drank almost a barrel's worth once, just as an experiment. It hardly had an effect."

The mercenary grinned. "Brave _and_ insanely sober. Not the usual standards you get around here, but a good one." The grin grew wider. "Say, why we teach them regulars a lesson? One that would cost them dearly?"

"Will it involve violence? I am not properly equipped at the moment."

"Oh, no violence, don't you worry about that." Seeing Barnaby nod in agreement, the mercenary turned to yell at the regular soldiers that remained in the alehouse. "Oi, you lot! Fancy wagering some of your gold in a drinking contest?"

-x-x-x-

The pawn stared at the rather hefty pouch of gold dumped in his hands. "What's this?"

"Your share of the winnings, of course! It's only right that you get the most," the mercenary declared, at the same time glaring daggers at any fool who dared to say otherwise.

"But what am I to do with them?"

"I don't bloody well know, do I? Spend it! Or just keep holding on to all your gold, maybe it'll be of use to you later! You might want to buy some neat piece of property when you decide to settle down for good!"

Barnaby blinked. Buy a piece of property? For himself? A rather interesting prospect. It would be convenient for him to have a permanent base… for him and his kind.

The pawn eyed the pouch of gold for a long moment before he tucked it into the folds of his clothes. He then left the now-empty alehouse, mulling over certain new possibilities.


End file.
